Obsession
by of-Quills-and-Parchment
Summary: Rikkai centric fic.Just bunch of characterisation. Chapter 3:Sanada
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Takeshi Konomi owns Prince of Tennis, and Cambridge owns their dictionary definitions.

1: Obsession

His Way of Suffering (Rikkai D1)

Niou, Yagyuu reflected, could get drunk on oxygen. Wait. It was not a reflection, it was a conclusion. Yagyuu had noticed this when he first noticed Niou. The white haired boy had pulled Yagyuu's chair from behind him, which caused Yagyuu minimal distress but maximal curiosity. Yagyuu concluded his theory when Niou flipped the teacher off during a reprimand that led to a full blown detention in the first week of school. He only took 4.35 minutes to arrive at such a conclusion.

Yanagi would have been proud.

It was difficult, Yagyuu found out, to ignore Niou Masaharu after you noticed him. Not due to the fact that Niou was usually too loud, too flamboyant, acted like he was dead-drunk most of the time…No. His mere presence was intoxicating. Yagyuu found himself taking note of redundant things like, how he was breathing in the air Niou breathed out… and chucked that piece of information to the back of his mind so it could be sent to the "ignoring section" of his brain. The fact that they were in the same tennis team made them more or less in the same vicinity most of the time, so Yagyuu had no choice but to continue noting redundant things about Niou.

Yagyuu would never admit that he could not grasp at the complexity which is Niou. He had no reason to tell Niou that he was trying to fathom the other boy's mentality, because the other boy would probably complicate matters further, just for kicks.

Sometimes, Yagyuu wondered what world Niou lived in. He seemed to stay just beyond the reach of Yagyuu metaphorical hold, such that Yagyuu could see the insanity, which was the main component that made up his doubles partner, but could not even dream of touching. He knew he could not understand Niou, not in the way Niou read him like a book. However, Yagyuu was known for being polite, patient, and persistent.

Character-wise, Yagyuu liked to think he got Niou's down-pat. Niou Masaharu did not regret. That much, Yagyuu knew. Niou certainly did not regret almost hurting Yagyuu back in first year; the smirk on his face when asked told Yagyuu that much. Even after they became partners, Niou never felt sorry for all the times he dragged Yagyuu into unnecessary trouble. This was due to Niou's firm belief that misery loved company. He wished he could beg to differ. Sometimes, Yagyuu wondered if he was to Niou like Sanada was to Yukimura. Just watching over and waiting **on**. Just loving, really. Or not. Yagyuu could not say that he knew what love was. But, with a dictionary definition, he knew what obsession was. _Continuous or unreasonable thoughts or desires which the obsessed person often finds very upsetting. _

Niou was obsession to him.

There were times, when staying in the same room as Niou could take its toll out on Yagyuu. It felt like being close to a livewire, the feeling was electrifying. Niou was dangerous, was like static on the back of Yagyuu's neck. And his lack of predictability just added to the thrill of the unnamed feeling, which Yagyuu thought he hated until he missed it. Never in his whole life, did he dream that he would miss _excitement_.

If Niou was like fire, uncontrollable, then Yagyuu would be like the water that controlled the boundaries he danced to. As long as within that boundary, Niou could burn with Hell's fires. He would only scorch Yagyuu that way. Perhaps Yagyuu was masochistic. He HAD to be, if he kept himself around Niou. He heard voices whispering on the corridors, whenever he walked by with Niou hanging off his shoulder, mentally screwing everyone up and creating the general ruckus that was typical of the nightmare he made everyone believe he was. These voices asked why the Gentleman would want to have anything to do with the Trickster.

They never understood, but that was just as well with Yagyuu. He would rather they did not understand Niou. That way, Niou would always be his, contained, controlled, confined. Yagyuu never realized how deadly stupidity could be.

Once, after training, when everyone was just sitting around and it was too early to go home, Marui breached the subject about the interesting relationship their D1 had. Yagyuu was asked persistently by their Genius on why he would bother trying to keep Niou, the Devil incarnate, in track. Yagyuu had no answer he wished to divulge, thus giving Yukimura the opportunity to be as astute as ever. Yukimura had smiled that indulgent smile of his, easy-going on the surface, razor sharp beneath. He told them that Yagyuu had sold his soul to the devil from day one. Yagyuu left with a polite farewell, not understanding Yukimura's words, or the implications of the smile exchanged between his Captain and said Devil.

Yagyuu never realized that his ignorance was his own folly. In third year, when he initiated the switch (for what he assumed was strategic purpose only and nothing else) and he looked at him-that-is-not-him in the mirror, he realized that it was not Niou which he kept and hid from the rest of the world. Niou never belonged to him. He belonged to Niou, and was allowed to BE Niou for a few glorious moments during the switch. It was the closest to having Niou that Yagyuu had been. It did not help that he was filled with an odd sense of gratitude towards him-that-is-not-him.

Pale pink tinge on the skin, slight heating of the cheeks, if Yagyuu had been asked to do a show-not-tell on the word "shame" he would have summarized his reflection. The reflection that he saw when he thought of his obsession with the boy that had hurt him that had become his doubles partner that had became terms that Yagyuu would ignore as if his life depended on it.

Denial was a word that was not in Yagyuu's dictionary, and he always hated Egypt anyway.

Senior High flew by in a whirl, and it consisted of Yagyuu next to Niou and serving his purpose of just being _there. _It was hard, really, to believe that his presence was all Niou needed, when Niou presence was _just not enough_, but Yagyuu kept his mouth shut because he knew Niou, had been Niou, and had learned that fucking was Niou's substitute for love, and love was as foreign to Niou as French was. So Yagyuu never said a thing, because he knew that even if Niou listened, which was not likely, he would misinterpret if Yagyuu ever said anything about love.

Besides, Yagyuu was not utterly convinced that it was love, anyway. He had agonized over it for 6 years, and thought that his feelings came closer to – nevermind. He was not going to walk the thin line of love to infatuation to obsession.

Entrance exams to university arrived, with Yagyuu forcibly shoving Niou out of his mind, his thoughts, his _dreams, _because dreams to Yagyuu were just dreams, and nothing more. No one told him that dreams reflected inner desires, and even if he knew, he would have ignored it like he had been ignoring everything else when it came to his relationship with Niou.

Yagyuu graduated and got into one of the top universities, like everyone had expected really. Niou, who had been one part tolerance, two parts resignation, three parts attraction and overall obsession, had vanished on the night before the entrance exams, sending one of Yagyuu's pillars of stability crumbling. Yagyuu often reminisced, when people around him marveled at how unconcerned he was now that his other self was gone… and Yagyuu remembered the feeling of heaviness in his heart when he looked at Niou when the boy was around. He identified it as longing, long after Niou was gone. People, other students mostly and his parents, used to whisper darkly behind his back about how he must be crazy to mix with that boy who grinned with the Devil's own, and gave everyone a metaphorical fucking with his mere state of being… Yagyuu did not know if he was crazy. But, he did know that dictionary definition of high. _A period of extreme excitement when you feel full of energy often caused by a feeling of success, or by drugs, or alcohol. _

Yagyuu Hiroshi could get high on Niou Masaharu.

Hehe, bad fic done. Sorry if it was really lousy, am new, so…whooee. Constructive criticism welcome, please don't flame, can't do anything about it, but it's just not nice.

This is mainly just a series of Rikkai-related fics that talks about the individual characters.

Rikkai because I love them. And also because they were so obsessed that they fitted nicely with the title. :P


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Takeshi Konomi owns Prince of Tennis, and Cambridge owns their dictionary definitions.

AN: Up at last! Niou's PoV to contrast with Yagyuu's. Hope you like!

2: Obsession

Caffeine

There were times when Niou Masaharu could not believe in the sheer transparency of the people around him. But then again, despite his disheveled appearance, Niou's mind was a system so complex and highly organized that if his teacher's had the opportunity to peer at its depth, they would have insisted that he coerced Yagyuu into a brain transplant.

Indeed, one week after joining the school tennis team, Niou could tell that the boy with the baseball cap and perpetual sullen expression would soon be wrapped around the pretty boy with the gentle expression. Niou only required three hours with the said pretty boy to realize that beneath that gentle expression was a mind harder and more unrelenting than adamantine. The last boy of their little group of three, a tall lanky lad with tiny eyes that were never opened, had a quick mind, second only to Niou's. However, Niou noticed his one weakness. That however, is a different story.

Niou could tell that Jackal was not half as stern and effacing as he would like people to think he was, and Marui was to be Niou's bane of existence for the next 3 years, and the butt of all the malicious jokes.

There was nothing Niou Masaharu did not see, until he walked straight into Yagyuu Hiroshi.

Yagyuu had a uniform that was too pristine, hair that was too neat, nails that were too clean, shoes that were too shiny, manners that were too gentlemanly, notes that were too organized, and many others things that Niou deemed as flaws. So it would have been Niou's great satisfaction to note that ramming headlong into Yagyuu resulted into a great big wrinkle on that too-white-too-starched-too-clean-too-neat-too-everything school shirt of his. But Niou's attention was not only diverted by something else, it was also fixated. And that was saying something, seeing that Niou had the attention span of a 4 year old child diagnosed with severe attention deficiency hyperactive disorder.

Niou could not see behind Yagyuu's façade. Granted, Niou was not like most dense people; he actually realized that there was more to Yagyuu then gentlemanly manners and scrupulously neat uniforms. But behind that, there was something, something which Niou could not touch.

That caught Niou. It caught Niou enough such that he kicked Yagyuu's chair out from underneath him two lessons later. Cause and effect theory. The theory did not speak of desired effect. Fear, maybe, anger, yes possibly, but the two emotions that Niou was used to seeing, were replaced by something more…bland. This sparked another bout of curiosity in Niou, and Niou was persistent in getting his answers.

Niou, of course, kept all observations to himself. If he allowed himself deprecating words, he would almost term his actions as sneaky. As it was, Niou just continued through school with a smirk on his face and an arm thrown haphazardly around Yagyuu's shoulders. He knew the meaning of unbearable, of intolerable, knew that he was striving his hardest to match all this, trying to force a reaction out of Yagyuu.

Niou did not believe that his actions were cruel. He did not believe that Yagyuu lived in muted patience, either. In the past, taking religious connotations into consideration, Niou was an atheist, whose centre of everything consisted of himself.

Of late, it was galling to admit it, but him and I was a term Niou was starting to use mentally.

Niou would never confess (though he suspected that Yukimura, the astute, devilish beauty had noticed) that he had no idea what Yagyuu was thinking about most of time. Sure, he could read the other boy's playing style, but that was just movement, tangible and solid. A slight brush, a fleeting glance and voila, you had D1 co-ordination. But when it came to the emotions, the substances that were made up of Yagyuu's mind, they were practically locked away from any probing. Unfathomable.

Sometimes, Niou had the uncomfortable feeling that Yukimura was laughing at him, mocking silently in every gesture, every raised eyebrow that converted more sarcasm then words could ever. This drove Niou into exasperation. Was the Trickster, so cunning and shrewd, caught at his own game?

Never. He was Niou fucking stubborn Masaharu. And if he had to lose at the whole façade-disguise-screw with your mind until it resembles what I want it to- game thingy that he never knew he had competition in, then he was going down kicking and screaming.

Meaning, more extreme tactics had to be applied.

From classical guitar solo to electrical with full blast amplifiers.

Once, when Yukimura had gotten tired of watching Niou watch Yagyuu for the millionth time ever, he brushed past the preoccupied boy gracefully, words crossing the slight distance, silent enough to be heard only by Niou. Niou had shaken head twice. Once for uncertainty, twice for denying it resolutely. He could not, would not have fallen in love with Yagyuu Hiroshi. He was merely…what was that again? That stupid definition he read the other day. _To devote oneself habitually or compulsively. _

Niou Masaharu could not deny Addiction, anymore than he could resist it.

Once he had admitted this, theoretically life was suppose to be easier. But he was a practical person, who realized that his nightmares were just beginning. Addiction meant withdrawal symptoms, and prolonged addiction just meant greater want. Niou could not get enough of Yagyuu.

Being with Yagyuu, decoding and deciphering the personality the Gentleman hid behind, was like a math problem on probability, where there were so many factors affecting it, that the number of possibilities became so numerous that it might as well be infinite.

Ah, fuck it. It was exhilarating, and had reached the point where Niou was not sure if he wanted to uncover the brown-haired mystery. After all, a bored Niou was only that much better than a bored Yukimura.

It was in their third year that he noticed something that his very perspective new captain had noticed years ago.

Who cared whether Yagyuu was actually decipherable or just plain undefined? It was like math, you did not need to know it, to _know_ it. Then, everything changed. Yagyuu initiated the switch, Niou followed it to follow and mimic and copy every move of Yagyuu into carbon replication, and allowed it to be so vice versa. And when there were others, others that threatened to take away his caffeine, Niou had his ways to make sure that they never came near again.

Never mind the fact that he was scaring away any interaction that Yagyuu might have wanted. As long as Yagyuu refused to say anything, as long as Niou could not garner any other emotion from the well-tempered boy, well, Niou would do as he damn well pleased.

When the match against Seigaku's golden pair was due, it was Niou that asked for the switch. Yagyuu as usual, assumed wrong about the switch. Niou had had his fun, but he had discovered something else from Yagyuu's point of view.

He, Niou Masaharu, was bloody confusing, utterly unreadable, and about as incomprehensible as it can get. The much older, much wiser him, decided that this was for the best. They should not cross certain boundaries; boundaries that Niou was certain Yagyuu would murder him for crossing.

And sometimes, a small childish part of him would petulantly protest, that if Yagyuu honestly wanted more from their fucked-up something-ship, their efforts would have met in between. This childish part would be quenched by Niou's insistence that there was nothing else. After all, he did not believe in fucking love. Just fucking, skin on skin, heat and fire and no strings attached.

No one saw fit to remind Niou that Addiction was compulsive enough to turn strings to chains and shackles and cold, hard metal.

In Senior High, Niou picked up French. He decided to keep this from Yagyuu. Maybe some part of him still wanted to feel like it belonged to himself.

Other parts of him knew that he belonged to Yagyuu, which belonged to himself that belonged to Yagyuu that went on and on and on till Niou got tired of rationalizing the irrational and fell asleep.

Tennis, despite everything Yukimura claimed, could only be part of so many people's lives. Similarly, people could only matter that much for so long. In university, everyone was so busy filling their heads up with rubbish called knowledge that they failed to remember the important things like Niou and Yagyuu, whose names were not supposed to be mentioned separately. Like D1. Like Platinum.

No one remembers that Platinum is 95 pure, does not tarnish and lasts a lifetime. It hurts more when you-or-him-or-both, but most likely him, can only remember platinum as Pt, a symbol on the periodic table, is a solid at 298K, and does not oxidize in air.

On the eve of his university entrance exams, Niou sat at his table, his long forgotten, well neglected studying strewn un-characteristically all around, and thought things out with a clear head for the first time in 6 years. No Yagyuu to cloud his mind, no Yagyuu to serve as a distraction.

In 5 minutes, Niou realized that he had long given in. Game, set and whole fucking match, Yagyuu. Six games to Love. In 3 minutes, he had packed his bags. In 2, he was out of his front door.

In 10 minutes, he had walked out of their life. The Gentleman was too preoccupied to notice that platinum can be corroded. _To wear away or cause to wear away gradually, especially by chemical reaction._

He never liked Halogens. Bloody group six metals.

AN: Hello! Sorry bout the super long time I took to update. Was stuck and lazy and studying. Reviews and constructive criticism welcome! Please tell me if there are any mistakes! Will do my best to correct them. Once again, thanks loads for reading.

P.S: With regards to the ending, Platinum is supposed to be corroded when in contact with halogens, cyanides, sulphur, or alkalis. Yep!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Takeshi Konomi owns Prince of Tennis, and Cambridge owns their dictionary definitions.

AN: Sorry for the long wait! Third part up, Sanada Genichirou.

3: Obsession

The Problem with Quadratics

Even since Sanada was a child, he had been taught the ways of the traditional family. He had been brought up to be their heir, treated like one and respected like one. To some children, this might have been very head-swelling, but Genichirou was a serious, quiet, and unassuming child. All he wanted to do was fulfill his duties as a son, a future clan head, and a future husband.

When he first entered Rikkai, he noticed Yukimura immediately. It seemed like everyone did. Sanada didn't care to hang out with him, he wasn't sure if he liked Yukimura, so he refrained from approaching the boy, and stayed clear of the crowd that was always surrounding Yukimura's table. It wasn't difficult for Sanada to avoid him; they weren't in the same class in the first place.

They were, however, in the same tennis club.

It was in tennis that Sanada first learnt about Yukimura's unpredictability. The slender boy was undecipherable almost to the point of defiance. Sanada had joined the tennis club aiming for a regulars position in his first year. He had wanted the captaincy too, thus the long grueling hours of training, hard work and maximal effort. He spent weeks cultivating the FuuRinKaaZan, and his attention on Yukimura increased exponentially when the boy crushed his creation with an almost insulting ease. Yukimura, to him, existed outside the norm, and he was confused. Confused by Yukimura's deceptiveness, his disarming smile, and the way his eyes dismissed your worth after he beat you into the ground.

If Sanada spent time thinking of metaphors, he would say that Yukimura was a quadratic equation. Unfortunately, Sanada's forte was History. He did, however, pay attention during math class, and learnt that there were three ways to solve a quadratic equation. But Yukimura wasn't one to be solved by perfect squares, you needed perfection to do that, and Sanada was convinced that despite everything he appeared to be, Yukimura wasn't perfect; the invisible flaws tugged at his mind, yet he couldn't pin them down. Then there was completing the squares, but Yukimura was in no way a person Sanada could take apart mentally and piece together to form the ultimate picture of sense and reason. The whole idea was absurd, but it would be easier if Sanada could just _understand._

Then there was formula. Sanada did not need a PhD to realize that Yukimura's constants and derivatives could hell be anything.

Yukimura was a bloody minded question. Sanada always thought the exam papers were too short.

By second year, Sanada's tennis had improved by leaps and bounds, but all techniques and methods were still futile against the miracles weaved by his vice captain. He had, however, come up with a new viewpoint on Yukimura. FuuRinKaaZan was applicable in kendo, tennis, and even shogi, but it would be perfectly useless in calligraphy. FuuRinKaaZan worked against an opponent that played against you, not _with _you. And that was how Sanada came to feel every time he played a match with Yukimura. It felt exactly like calligraphy, except that it was Yukimura holding the brush, toying with him, making Sanada run according to his design as he ultimately painted the word Victory, while making his opponent spell Defeat.

Sometimes, Sanada felt that after so much wrong calculations and useless working, he was about to hit upon the answer, when Yukimura would walk away and he would lose it again.

There was a word that Sanada could bring up to mind, whenever he thought of Yukimura. He could admit it; things would be so much easier. Sanada could own up his interest in Yukimura. And Yukimura would tell him. In detail, exactly what that interest was. These are things Sanada knew, but refused to acknowledge. Acknowledgement would mean acceptance to things Sanada could not bring himself to admit yet.

Once, when Renji calmly remarked about their new captain's growing attractiveness, Sanada bit back the sharp comments that were threatening to spill over. He knew that feeling; _resentment, apprehension, bitterness_, but talking about it would make it even more real.

He knew, then, that he was afraid, because Renji's math had always been better than his.

Sanada, in his well provided for life, had never had the opportunity to taste jealousy. But what worried him, were reasons. Reasons for his jealousy; he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what _that _feeling was.

He allowed time to pass, not realizing that he wasn't the only one waiting.

When Yukimura first collapsed on court, Sanada's only thought was that, he could perceive the flaws now. And it wasn't what he wanted to see. Sometimes, Sanada hated his upbringing. He never had the chance to learn about sorrow either, or helplessness.

Seeing Yukimura confined to a hospital bed, paler than the bleak walls surrounding him, seemed to trigger Sanada's memory of Yukimura's vibrancy in the past. Renji could have told anyone Yukimura's eyes were blue. Sanada could have told them that Yukimura's eyes shone. He spent so much time by the hospital bed that he soon learnt that Yukimura's eyes were more than colour. They burned and seared with his anger, fire in the disguise of ice, and once, when Sanada visited alone, the stunning sapphires gave way to pearls, when Yukimura gave way to his despair.

Sanada spent many afternoons watching his captain sleep. In his mind, he kept thinking, _when you're well again, I'll ask you. _

Sanada spent many evenings trading arguments back and forth with his captain. Sanada had a terrible temper, and he hated it when Yukimura's terrible frustration made him feel even more useless. Yukimura's anger could floor Sanada's anytime, and what used to be the epitome of gentleness in Rikkai's eyes, was slowly becoming anger and dissatisfaction, which needed an outlet.

During one of their more vicious arguments, Sanada found himself momentarily distracted when Yukimura stood with his back to the sunset, and his face slightly flushed from cold fury, instead of the pallor Sanada was getting accustomed to seeing daily. He could not stop staring at the other boy's lips, parted a little to let a sigh escape, and it was easier than returning the gaze of those eyes, frozen into agates. He had reached out then, unthinkingly, to brush back the stray lock of hair that fell against Yukimura's cheek in a soft caress.

The immediate knowing smirk that curled up the edge of Yukimura's lips just provided further discomfort for him.

During the match against Echizen, Sanada's sole focus was on Yukimura's eyes, in his last visit. They had changed from all shades of blue to a mournful shade of grey. Grey had been one of Sanada's favourite colours, but now, it was a colour he never wanted to look at again.

He lost, 7-6.

Sanada couldn't put a colour to Yukimura's eyes, as he watched him train secretly to get back his stamina and strength and tennis. But that was because he didn't know the colour of determination.

When Yukimura beat Echizen Ryoma in Singles One in the Nationals Finals, Sanada saw that his eyes were the colour of the sky.

They studied for entrance exams together, Sanada, Yukimura and Renji. One afternoon, when Renji was hammering Akaya's grammar back into a semblance of correctness, preferably so that their junior could pull enough wool over his teacher's eyes to pass, it was just the two of them in the locker room, and Sanada was tackling his least favourite topic. Yukimura leaned over and peered at the cross-outs all over Sanada's writing paper.

"If you can't use perfect squares or completing the square, then sub in negative 'b' times positive or negative square-root of 'b' squared minus four 'a' times 'c', then divide the whole thing by two 'a'. You should get two answers."

Sanada stared at the neat working on his paper, then at his captain who was half out of the door. Yukimura threw a glace back at his stunned face and laughed.

"Should I have said it slower? There's nothing easier than quadratics, Sanada."

Years later, he asked Yukimura if he knew what Sanada had been going through all those years from Junior High to University.

"Of course," had been the reply.

So Sanada asked him again, what that was, because he promised himself that he would once Yukimura had recovered; the question was long overdue already.

Yukimura moved closer, a smile ghosting across his delicate features. The miles between them were reduced to mere inches, and Sanada could see something new in Yukimura's eyes. He wondered if they mirrored his own.

"Infatuation, Genichirou," was Yukimura's reply, before he pressed their lips together.

AN: DONE. Ahahah, sorry, was having a "Finally!" kind of feeling. Tell me what you think about this chapter, thanks! Next up, should be Yukimura. No idea what I'm going to do for that one. Eheh, will come up with something!


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